


May The Odds Smile Upon You

by Tooti_Fruity



Category: Futurama
Genre: M/M, i actually want to finish this one tbh, i'm really excited about it!, yep we're doing a hunger games au now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 08:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17597930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tooti_Fruity/pseuds/Tooti_Fruity
Summary: Volunteering, save for the Careers, is an incredibly dumb thing to do. Any statistician will tell you that. The odds of winning the Hunger Games are incredibly slim for anyone not from Districts 1, 2, and 4. You'd have to be crazy or suicidal to try. Or maybe you just love someone enough to die in their place.Bender certainly does.





	May The Odds Smile Upon You

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT. DO NOT SKIP THIS BACKGROUND INFO.
> 
> The cast all live in District 7, the lumber district, and it's the 74th Hunger Games, just like in the original novels.
> 
> In this fic, Leela is of Indian descent. There's no particular reason for that, I'm just in the habit of writing her that way due to the 1990s AU created by me and rowan_one. She would also be trans, like that AU, if not for the fact that the world of the Hunger Games doesn't seem particularly progressive and would likely (wrongfully) class her as a "male", thus her not being the female tribute for her district. 
> 
> Zoidberg is black and Bender is afro-latinx. Contextually, this isn't important to the story, but I figured I'd set those things in stone to help the reader better visualize the characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :D

“Philip Fry!”

The world is falling out from under him. This can’t be happening.

“Will Philip Fry make his way to the stage?”

This has to be some kind of joke. Or a dream. This can’t be real. He didn’t just hear Fry’s name be called by the District 7 Representative. Fry is _not_ the male District 7 tribute for the 74th Hunger Games. It’s just not possible.

But Bender can see the guards ushering him, all the way in the other section of the crowd, the section that holds all the 15 year old boys. He looks numb. He looks shocked.

He looks like a dead man walking.

Suddenly, Bender is shoving his way through sea of other 16 year old’s, flailing his arms as he rushes out to the walkway.

“Fry, no!” he shouts as Peacekeepers pull him back, gripping his forearms and yanking him away from the other man. “Fry, wait, I-stop! I volunteer!”

The Peacekeepers immediately let him go. His voice is wobbly, but his declaration was clear. They are no longer allowed to interfere, not when he’s come forward. He clears his dry throat, loudly declaring, “I volunteer as tribute!”

The Representative looks delighted; Fry looks horrified.

“No, no, you can’t-Bender-” he gasps. But it’s already been done. It can’t be taken back.

“Well, the plot thickens!” laughs the Rep. He motions for Bender to come forward, and he begins the walk towards the platform, where a girl about his age is standing, looking terrified and like she might vomit.

“Bender, stop! No, you can’t let him! I won’t let you! Bender, please!” Fry begs. Yancy steps forward, grabbing Fry’s arms and pulling him out of the walkway. He’s crying and swearing now, and Bender can feel his eyes boring into his back.

The entire square is quiet, save for the subtle murmur of gossiping whispers and Fry’s sobbing. Bender can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he climbs the stairs and makes his way across the stage. He silently regards the other tribute-That’s what he is now, isn’t it? A tribute-and stares at linoleum floor. The Rep beams at him and begins to speak again.

“How exciting, a volunteer! Not entirely unheard of, but a rarity to be sure! Please, tell everyone your name,” he declares with a dramatic, verbal flourish. He points the microphone towards Bender.

“Bend-um, Benjamín Rodríguez,” he mumbles.

“Ah, yes, very good. And how old are you?” the Rep continues. Bender swallows hard.

“Uh-16 years old,” he mumbles, again. The Rep regards him with interest.

“And, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you volunteer? To get in on the glory, the excitement of the games? To experience the-” This time, Bender cuts him off, voice hard with grief.

“I volunteered to protect my best friend. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to him,” he says, staring straight at the crowd for the first time. It remains listless. The Rep clears his throat awkwardly, but nonetheless smiles and ushers them forward, bringing their open palms together. He whispers, so as not to be heard through the microphone, ‘raise your hands’, so they do.

It’s all they can do.

~~~~~

When Fry greets him, later that day, angry doesn’t even begin to describe how he looks. He’s a toxic combination of angry, sad, disappointed, and tired. He enters through the front door of the courthouse room Bender’s being held in, and if not for the fact that the Peacekeepers guarding the door had warned him that excessive physical contact was prohibited, he likely would have punched Bender and then flung himself into his arms.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me. How could you?” he pleads, fidgeting in the overstuffed chair directly adjacent to Bender. “How could you volunteer like that? Don’t you realize the danger you’re in?” Bender shakes his head.

“You mean the danger _you_ were in. The danger I _saved_ you from?” he shoots back, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the neighboring table. Fry shakes his head, nonplussed.

“I might have to watch you-” His voice cracks, cutting him off.

Bender didn’t need to hear the rest. He knew what Fry was going to say. _I might have to watch you die._ It’s a terrifying thought. But at least it’s less terrifying than the idea of losing Fry.

Is he selfish for subjecting Fry to the fate he can barely fathom surviving himself? He doesn’t want to think about that, so he leans forward and holds Fry’s hand in his own.

“I’m going to come back,” he says softly. “Every minute I’m in there, I’ll be thinking of you. It’ll keep me going,”

Fry’s eyes well up with tears, and he reaches into his jacket pocket. He withdraws a clenched fist, takes a deep breath, and drops something into Bender’s still-open palm.

“They said you can bring something from home into the arena, right? It’s not much, but I thought it might be enough to get you through. I figured you’d need it more than me now,” he whispers. Bender looks down and gawks.

It’s his seven leaf clover. Fry’s lucky seven leaf clover, his once-in-a-lifetime find. The little something that he’s carried with him for longer than he’s known Bender, which is a _long_ time. He closes Bender’s fingers around it, gently, and pulls Bender’s hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

At this, a Peacekeeper enters, having seen the illegal display of affection.

“Times up,” he says gruffly. Fry makes an indignant sound at having their time cut short, but before he can argue, Bender speaks up for both of them.

“Okay. Thanks for coming to see me, Fry. And thanks for the token,” he says formally.

They both stand, and Fry goes to leave, Bender following him to see him off at the door. But he stops dead in his tracks, turns, and lunges into Bender’s arms, nearly knocking him down as he sinks into the other’s grip.

“Stay safe, Bender,” Fry sobs into Bender’s neck. “Please come home. I love you so much,”

The Peacekeeper pulls him off of Bender, and as quick as he came, he’s gone.

~~~~~

Bender is alone for a lot of the time in the room. Despite Fry only being allowed a certain frame of time to see him, a small window of time to say goodbye, Bender has time to kill after their encounter. No one else comes to say goodbye. No one else will miss him. Fry’s the only family he’s got.

He imagines that maybe the girl tribute needs the time they’ve been allotted. Maybe she has a lot of family. Maybe she doesn’t.

He’ll know soon enough.

When they finally come to get him, a Peacekeeper stands on either side of him, clutching a large and menacing gun that reminds him of what they can do to him if he resists or tries to run. While they wouldn’t kill him, considering his status as the newest tribute from his district, it certainly wouldn’t be pleasant to get the heel of one in his face.

They continue down the well lit corridor, passing a dozen or so office doors, before finally arriving at the back entrance of the courthouse. There, the girl tribute waits for him, allotted her own Peacekeeper escorts. They give each other a curt nod of the head, and Bender notes that she still looks rather ill. They travel together to a waiting car, an anonymous Peacekeeper driving while their Rep sits shotgun.

“Hello!” he chirps. “I must formally introduce myself. My name is John Zoidberg. I’m your District Representative. I will be assisting you in matters leading up to the beginning of the Games. If you have questions, feel free to ask me anything,”

The girl jostles slightly, then, for the first time, looks something other than sick or scared. “Would you help up stage a coup d'état?” she sneers, and Bender barks out a laugh. Zoidberg scowls.

“Well if you’re going to be rude about it…” he grumbles, turning away sulkily. Bender smiles at her.

“You got guts,” he tells her. “Which is great. It’d be even greater to know your name. Mine’s Bender,” The girl turns to him, still smug, and sticks out a hand.

“Leela Turanga,” she says. “Didn’t you hear it at the Reaping?” Bender shakes his head.

“I was too busy praying that my friend wouldn’t get Reaped. Good that did,” he murmurs. She regards him sympathetically.

“It was really brave of you to stand up and take your friend’s place,” she says. Bender looks up and checks, and neither Zoidberg nor the driver are paying attention to them; Zoidberg has headphones on and is watching some Capitol soap opera, and the driver is speaking to someone on his wireless earpiece.

“We’re not just friends,” he whispers.

Bender isn’t really sure why he tells her this; though it’s not necessarily looked down upon, two men dating isn’t something you see often. At least, it’s not obvious when two people of the same sex are together. It’s something that he’s always revealed on a need-to-know basis. Regardless of how subtle they might’ve been, she seems unsurprised.

“I figured, with the way things went down at the Reaping. It’s not like friends can’t be that close, but “just friends” don’t usually volunteer for each other,” she muses. “So you’re gay?”

“Bisexual,” he corrects. “You?”

“Gay. As in, I’m a lesbian,” she responds. He hums in acknowledgement.

“Got anyone special?” he says. She shrugs.

“Me and my friend Amy, we’re…something. It’s complicated. She has a boyfriend, but she says she likes me too, so we’re kind of playing things by ear. Well, we were, before…” She trails off, and Bender knows what she means. He puts a hand on her shoulder in sympathy.

It seems like no time at all before they’re at the train station. Bender, Leela, and Zoidberg all step out and approach the train. As they’re walking, Zoidberg begins to speak once more.

“Now, I must warn you, your mentor…he’s a little bit. Gruff. So keep that in mind,” And just like that, they’re at the train. The automatic door slides open and reveals the interior of the locomotive, where the walls are a deep magenta, and the whole place appears to be furnished in mahogany and plush velvet. The luxury brings Bender an acute discomfort. He’s unused to such nice things, already longing for the comfort of the trees and open forest of home. At this thought, it hits him that it’s unlikely he’ll see it again.

Sitting, slumped over an overly large table, is a very clearly hungover man. He barely moves, before Zoidberg sighs and jogs over to him, smacking him upside the head. He groans, sitting up.

“Why did you have to do that?” he complains. Zoidberg rolls his eyes, motioning to Bender and Leela.

“Your tributes,” he hisses, and the other man gives him a sour look.

“You mean the _Capitol’s_ tributes,” he responds moodily. Zoidberg scowls.

“No, _your_ tributes. That you have to train. So get to it!” The man lumbers to his feet, staring to the two teens before him, and with a sigh, says,

“Hermes Conrad. I’m your mentor. Welcome to the worst week of your life,”


End file.
